Want You Back

17.

Sunlight streamed through my open windows, the warm beam of light settling on her face, making me squint. I rubbed at my tired eyes and stretched my arms, arching my back. With a throaty yawn, I opened my eyes, immediately regretting it. I winced at the bright sunlight and promptly dove back under the covers, hiding from the brightness.

I would have been content to enjoy the aftermath of my drinking in bed all day, staying hidden beneath the covers. Alas, the pounding in my head and churning in my gut were warning signs that I needed some water, and maybe a lobotomy.

Feeling unusually heavy, I pushed back my bedsheets and sat up, hands instantly going to shield my eyes. I felt myself swaying, head lolling side-to-side and then, promptly fell off the bed.

I collided with the wooden floors with a groan. Feeling content to just lie there, I let my eyes slide shut. I decided that the nausea and headache could wait; after all I was still tired and the floor was surprisingly comfortable. Consciousness was just beginning to slip away from me when I was jerked awake all over again. This time, by a snore.

With the grace of a newborn giraffe, I struggled to my knees, and clutching at my bedsheets, managed to drag myself halfway onto the bed, peering over my pile of pillows cautiously. Was there someone else in the room?

No, I realized, I was still alone. Then I must have just imagined someone snoring; my hungover mind playing tricks on me.

I dropped my pounding head onto the mattress, releasing another groan; all I wanted to do was sleep. And then I heard another snore.

My head perked up once more- something I regretted instantly - and thus my vision began to swim. When the splotches and dizziness passed, my eyes settled on my iPhone, propped up against a pillow. I squinted at the device and then squeaked and fell backwards.

Luke Hemmings. It was always Luke Hemmings.

I scrambled awkwardly back to my knees and reached for my phone, tapping for the 'end' button. Unfortunately, Luke Hemmings decided to wake up at that particular moment.

"Jasmine?" He asked tiredly, his voice raspy and even deeper from sleep. "What the he-"

I promptly ended the call. Heart pounding in my chest and breathing uneven, I laid back in bed, trying to figure out how I had gotten herself into this situation. Then again, Luke Hemmings had always been good at ruining her life.

Jasmine Chambers was curled up next to one of her best friends, Cara Delevingne. Sitting on the coffee table before them was a magazine, a box of tissues and a bottle of wine. Neither girl had spoken for at least thirty minutes now, not knowing what to say, or if they should say anything. The unspoken agreement between the two of them was clear as water - this conversation didn't leave the room. Ever.

Jasmine lifted her head from its spot on top her knees, and reached for a tissue, blowing her nose. Cara reacted with her, placing a comforting hand on her friend's back, a silent message that she was there.

"Magazines are f-full of shit, you and Kenny know that better t-than anyone." She hiccuped.

Cara smiled sadly at her friend and shook her head, choosing her next words carefully. "Yes, I do. But, whenever I see an article about me, I always have to retrace my steps, try and figure out why the tabloids would think this and that about me. There's always, always some truth in these articles, Jazz."

Jasmine stood up and began pacing the room, hands trembling and tears leaking from her eyes. "B-but this is Luke we're talking about! Me and Luke, Luke and me. He wouldn't cheat on me. He wouldn't, he wouldn't..."